


Left of Center

by outruntheavalanche



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canadiana, F/M, Junior Hockey, Melodrama, NaNoWriMo, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Sexism, Shitty Teenage Boys Being Shitty Teenage Boys, Small Towns, Teenage Drama, Underage Drinking, implied/referenced past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-01
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:50:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: Can junior hockey superstar Gordie Smith find love with shy wallflower, Jamie Polanco?





	1. Gordie

**Author's Note:**

> Slave Lake is a town in the province of Alberta. There is no team called the Slave Lake Pilots.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This was originally going to be my NaNo entry like a billion years ago. This story will probably never be finished.
> 
> I'm just uploading a bunch of ancient stuff I found on my abandoned FFN profile.

"Hey, Gordo, I think those chicks are checking you out." 

I looked up from my spot on the old, splintered hockey bench, into the twinkling blue eyes of my best friend, Trent Walker. "What, Trent? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," I said, nudging my best friend in the ribs. "What about  _what_  girls?"

Trent rolled his eyes at me and began to laugh, puffs of air blowing out cold, like clouds of steam. "Those chicks over there, sitting by the Pepsi sign." Trent motioned to two girls with the blade of his stick. "They've been checking you out all game long."

"I didn't notice. I've been too busy focusing on the game," I teased. 

"Oh, whatever, Gordie. You can stop pretending to be the second coming of Gretzky, and pay attention to the girls some time." Trent grumbled at me, out of the corner of his mouth. "You're like, the stud of the team, and you  _never_  go out anymore."

"Sorry I don't live up to your standards of 'cool', Trent," I snorted.

"It's ok. I like ya anyway." Trent beamed.

"Smith! Walker! Quit gossiping like a couple girls and pay attention to the game!"

Trent and I both snapped to attention as the coach - and my dad - turned his steely gaze on the two of us, at the end of the bench.

"Sorry, Coach," Trent muttered, hanging his head in embarrassment at being reprimanded in front of his teammates.

"Sorry, Sir." I echoed.

My father nodded, gruffly, his long calloused fingers closed around his metal whistle. "Just don't let it happen again, boys. Save it for after the game."

*** 

After the game, which we won 5-2, Dad and I piled our equipment in to the back of the pickup truck.

"I'm going to hang out with Trent for a while, Dad," I said, rubbing my chapped, red hands and stuffing them into the pockets of my jacket. "I'll see you later?"

"Gord, you know I don't like you going out late at night," my father protested, sighing heavily. "You can't just blow off your responsibilities because - "

"I'll be home before midnight, ok Dad?" I said, before he could launch into another one of his tirades. "I promise, when I come home, I'll do my homework."

"What about practice?" he asked, arching a blond eyebrow at me.

"I can get up early tomorrow morning," I suggested. "Trent and I were going to go see a movie at the movie theater."

Dad sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "All right... Just as long as you come right home once the movie's over, and you do your homework."

"Thanks, Dad." I cuffed him on the shoulder and ran off in search of Trent.

***

Trent and his girlfriend, Heather, were waiting by his Jeep for me. "Hey, Gordo, change of plans."

"Change?" I asked, flicking my eyes at Heather briefly.

"Yeah. Heather got invited to this party, and I kinda want to go too. I have to make an appearance, you know?" Trent laughed, pulling a cigarette out of his wrinkled, foil pack. "I  _know_  how much you hate parties, but it wouldn't be so bad. Heather has a friend that she thinks you might like."

"Dude, you know I hate when you try to set me up with your loser friends," I said, glaring at Trent in mock-anger. "No offense, Heather."

Heather rubbed her hands together and blew on them, before shoving them into the pockets of her heavy winter coat. Both Heather and Trent's cheeks were red from the cold, and Heather looped her arm through his.

"She's really a nice girl," she said, resting her cheek on Trent's shoulder. "Despite what Trent might think, she is  _not_  a loser."

"She's not hot either," Trent laughed.

"Trent! Don't be so mean," Heather snapped, giving him a shove in the shoulder. "Girls don't have to be petite and blonde to be pretty, you know."

Trent laughed. "That's just how I like 'em, Heather."

I rolled my eyes at the happy couple. "Ok, I'll go. But once I start feeling like a third wheel, I'm outta there, ok guys?"

Trent and Heather shared knowing looks before nodding at me simultaneously.

*** 

The party was at the house of a player from another local team, but I was familiar with most of the guys on their team, so at least I knew some people I could hang with if this Jamie chick was too boring.

"Hey, Gordo, nice goal ya scored tonight." The other team's goalie greeted me with a wide grin and a plastic cup of beer. "You're livin' up to your namesake, aye?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm no Gordie Howe, Riley," I snorted, accepting the beer and taking a sip. "I'm not even Gordie  _Dwyer_."

Riley began to laugh, loud grating brays. "Well, I bet you didn't take Howe's 9 by coincidence, eh Smith?" the goalie asked. 

I rolled my eyes again. "I took number 9 'cause Modano wore it."

" _Modano_?" Riley exclaimed, in shock. " _That_  pansy?"

"I'm just kidding, Ducharme," I snorted, downing some more of the beer, licking the foam off of my lips. "I'm a good Canadian boy at heart.  _You_  know me."

Ducharme shrugged. "Whatever, Gordie. You're the man, though. There's no way in hell Walker should be captain."

"Uh, you do forget that my dad is the coach, eh?" I said. "He'd  _never_  give me any special treatment."

"But unlike that bastard Walker, you actually deserve the captain's 'C'," the goalie slurred, his eyelids drooping a little. "Walker doesn't appreciate it."

Growing slightly uncomfortable, I just silenced Riley Ducharme with a nod, all the while scanning the crowd for Heather and Trent. "I see Trent and Heather, Ducharme. I'll catch ya later, aye?"

"Ok, Gordie. See ya." Riley wandered off, presumably in search of more beer, and I headed for Trent and Heather, who were on the other side of the crowded room, drinking beers.

"Jamie's here," Heather said, grinning at me and touching my wrist with the lip of her beer bottle, one arm folded under her small breasts. "She's looking for you."

I grumbled. "Jeeze, Heather, I don't even know this girl. What if she's totally psycho like the last one you tried to set me up with?" I reminded her.

Heather only laughed. "Gordie, Jamie is one of the most level headed people I've ever known! She's been my best friend since, like, forever!" she said, brushing her bouncy blonde curls out of her face. "She's so sweet and cute. You'll really like her."

I shot Trent a  _look_. "Well?"

He shrugged. "She's not a  _total_  dog, if that's what you mean," he said.

"Where is she?" I asked, sidling up next to Heather and searching for her elusive friend, Jamie.

"She's right over there!" Heather's features brightened when she spotted her friend, and waved her arm. "Hey, Jamie! We're over here!" Heather motioned to Jamie to join us.

Now, Heather's friend Jamie was not what one would call a classic beauty. Her long brown hair was a little mousy, and her pale cheeks were dotted with freckles. She had to have been about my height, 5'9, and almost 160 pounds. She did have nice, clear blue eyes though, and when she spotted Trent and Heather, a big smile lit up her face.

"Hey, guys." She ran up to Heather and gave her a tight hug before stepping back, and studying me with her pale, crystalline blue eyes. "Hi, I'm Jamie. I don't believe we've met before."

I held out my hand to her. "I'm Gordie Smith. A teammate of Trent's."

Jamie's features immediately hardened at the mentioning of Trent's name. "Oh. How unfortunate for you. You seem like a nice guy," she said, shooting Trent a nasty glare. When he didn't react, she turned back to Heather and me. "I was at the game today. You had a really pretty behind-the-back pass to Javenson for the game winner."

"You're a fan?" I asked, smiling hopefully.

Jamie laughed. "Oh, gosh... I've been a hockey fan since I was in my mother's womb," she said, flipping her long hair behind her shoulders. "My dad played minor league hockey for the New York Rangers, at Binghamton. I was born with the love of hockey in my veins."

"Awesome," I said, slipping my hands into the pockets of my relaxed-fit jeans and leaning against the refreshment table. "What's your dad's name? Did he ever make it up to the Rangers?"

"Jim Polanco, and sadly, nope, he never made it," she said, shrugging. "He spent six years in Binghamton before retiring and coming back home to Slave Lake."

"Wow, he must've really loved the game to stick around in the AHL for so long," I exclaimed, hoping I wasn't sounding too much like an awestruck moron. Usually, it was the other way around. 

Jamie smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners, lighting up the room like Christmas lights. "He was. Actually, he still is," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "He, along with Trent's and Heather's dads are teammates on a 30-and-up beer league team. He just can't get enough hockey."

I smiled gregariously at her, offering her my best and brightest grin, the one all the pucks went for. "Would you like to go out some time, Jamie?" I asked, acting as demure as possible - which was pretty damn hard when people were calling you the Next One, heir apparent to Wayne Gretzky, and Gordie Howe jr.

Jamie arched an eyebrow at me, skepticism written in her eyes. "Oh? Like...a  _date_?" she asked, softly, almost  _cautiously_.

I nodded. "You seem like a really cool girl, Jamie Polanco... I'd like to get to know you a little better," I offered.

Jamie folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to the side. "Hmmm... I dunno, Gordie Smith. I've had bad experiences in the past with Slave Lake junior hockey players... We'll see." She lowered her eyes from mine, her cheeks flushing bright red. "We'll see."


	2. Jamie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather Warner urges her shy, introverted best friend, Jamie Polanco, to join her at a party hosted by one of the Pilots' star players. Both girls' lives are changed forever at that party - one for the better, and one for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the last part of Jamie's chapter overlaps with Gordie's. *cringe* Hopefully, I won't do that again!
> 
> * * *
> 
> There was some terrible subplot where Trent was Jamie's bad blind date.

When Heather Warner, my best friend, told me she'd set me up with the star of our Western Hockey League team, milk shot out through my nose.

Literally. 

Handing me a napkin, Heather closed her math book and studied me. "He really likes down-to-earth girls like you, Jamie. He's tired of the girls who only like him 'cause he's supposed to be this stud hockey star." 

I shrugged, as I mopped up the mess on my math notebook. "I don't know, Heather. You remember what happened the last time I dated a hockey player."

She sighed, twisting her hands in her lap, staring down at them like they were the most interesting thing in the room. "All too well, Jame, but I promise you, Gordie is different. He's sensitive. He listens to classical music."

I shrugged, leaning back against her bed, resting my notebook on my knees. "I don't know, Heather."

"Gordie's really nice. He's not like the other guys, Jamie. He's intelligent, and he plays the piano... And he likes to write poetry and songs," Heather said, scrambling off the bed and throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I promise you you won't regret it!"

I eyed my best friend of ten years, suspiciously. "Why are you so insistent that I go out with Gordie, eh Heath?" I asked.

She dropped her arm and pouted. "There's no ulterior motive _here_ , Jame. I just think that you and Gordie might make a good couple," she insisted. But somehow, I just didn't believe her.

*** 

Heather and I stood in front of her full length mirror, touching up our make up. 

"Why do you have that look on your face?" she asked, applying a second coat of lip gloss, smacking her lips loudly at the mirror.

I rolled my eyes as I ran a brush through my hair. "Uh, Heather, you forget that I don't go on dates? I haven't been out since... You know, since..." I trailed off, unable to choke out that name. 

She sighed and put an arm around me. "I know, Jamie, I know. Don't worry. If Gordie tries to do anything you don't want him to, I'll kick his ass."

I stared at my petite, 5'4 friend and began to laugh. "Heather, you couldn't kick _anyone's_  ass!" I giggled.

She pretended to be injured. "Excuse me? I happen to be very tough," she said, hands on her hips. "I could so kick his ass."

I shook my head at her and pulled my long brown hair back into a pony tail. "Ok, Heath. I believe you," I sighed, rolling my eyes at her again.

"Why don't you ever wear your hair down, Jame? It's your best feature," she sighed, running her fingers through my hair. "I wish I had your hair."

"Come  _on_ , Heather. You're the most popular, most attractive girl in school. You've got nothing to be jealous of. Especially not me," I said.

Heather folded her arms across her chest and shrugged. "That's not true, Jamie."

"You know it is," I teased. "Stop trying to be modest and just accept that you're the queen of Slave Lake."

My best friend scowled at me, and for a second, I couldn't tell if she was really mad at me, or just joking. "Come  _on_ ," she said, finally, after a brief silence. "Let's get going, ok? Trent must be here by now." Heather tugged on my hand and pulled me out of her room.

 ***

Trent was waiting in the family room with Heather's dad, Dean. The two of them were involved in a game of NHL 2001, their eyes locked on the TV screen. I don't even think they heard us come down from Heather's bedroom.

"Aw, c'mon, Trent," Dean said, pressing down on the controller's buttons, "that was a cheap goal."

"Sorry, Mr. Warner, I don't take any prisoners." Trent smirked, arrogantly. Spotting Heather and me standing by the staircase, he set down his controller and stood up. "Hey, Heather, Jamie." He went over to us and gave me an awkward smile before greeting Heather with a chaste peck on the cheek.

It wasn't like he could exactly sweep her off her feet. Certainly not with Dean Warner, ex-hockey goon, standing right behind him.

"Hey, sweetie," she said, offering her cheek to him. Heather broke away from Trent and ran over to her father, giving him a big hug. "Hi, Daddy." 

"Do you promise to be careful tonight, Heather?" Dean asked, resting his large knotty hands, calloused from his years as a hockey player, on her shoulders.

"Daddy, I  _promise_  I'll be careful," she said, with an exaggerated flip of her hair, and a nonchalant laugh.

"I don't want you drinking, ok? Remember what happened the last time?" he reminded her, the deep creases in his forehead deepening even more as he frowned.

Heather sighed. "I do, Daddy, and I promise it won't happen ever  _ever_ ag - "

The door opened and Heather's mom, Jane, stepped in, shaking the snow off of her winter coat and shutting the door.

"Hey, girls." Mrs. Warner pulled off her wool hat and hung it up on the coat rack by the door, along with her jacket.

"Hi, Mommy." Heather greeted her with a slight nod, her eyes steeling over. "Jamie, Trent and I are on our way out. We'll be back before midnight."

Mrs. Warner shot her husband a hard glare, before turning back to Heather and me. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, hon? The streets are terrible tonight," she said, pulling off her mittens. "I almost skidded off Eighth Street today, and then some asshole almost ran me off the road and into a snow bank."

"Janie, you know you're not the most  _observant_  driver," Dean Warner teased, gently, slipping an arm around his wife's waist.

"Oh Dean," she sighed, swatting him playfully, on the arm. "Let the kids go out and have some fun."

Dean Warner shrugged, and then glanced at the three of us. "You kids behave, all right? Don't want the sheriff bringing you back in his squad car, eh?" 

Heather laughed again, touching her father on the arm. "We'll be fine, Daddy! Stop worrying!" she exclaimed, running to the coat rack and grabbing our coats. "See you guys! We'll be home before midnight!"

Heather, Trent and I started down the porch steps, and her parents stood in the door frame, watching after us.

"Be careful." Jane Warner echoed, shutting the door behind us.

***

I knew, once I stepped into the foyer of the Ducharme family's immense mansion, I was out of place. The most popular kids from my high school and the neighboring town were hanging around the snack table, or the turntable, sharing drinks and chatting about their weekend plans.

I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

"Trent and I will see you around, Jame. We're going to find a place to, you know..." She trailed off, winking at me. "Make yourself at home."

"Heather, I don't even  _know_  these people," I hissed, grumbling in annoyance when someone bumped into me from behind.

She shrugged, slipping her hand into Trent's. "Well, I - "

Trent stepped up behind Heather and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Heather, I forgot to pick up Gordie. He's going to be pissed, so we should go get him right now," he whispered into her ear. 

"Look, Jamie, I'm sure no one here is a bad person. Get to know 'em. You might be surprised," she said, as Trent helped her back into her jacket. "We'll be right back, ok?"

I sighed in defeat and lowered my head. "Ok, ok. I'll be fine. Just go." I waved them off and stumbled once again, as a sharp elbow caught me in the ribs.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." A tall boy, nearly 6'4, with shaggy brown hair smiled down at me and extended a long-fingered hand. "I'm Riley Ducharme."

I stared at him and squinted, studying him, accepting his hand. "Uh, sorry, I don't know who you are...? My friend just dragged me to this party 'cause her boyfriend's on Slave Lake."

"Ah," Riley grinned, blue eyes flashing merrily. "I'm the goalie for Peace River. No wonder you didn't know who I am." He chuckled and held out a red plastic cup. "Want a drink?""I don't drink alcohol," I said, backing away. 

"It's not alcohol," he said, brightly. "It's pop."

"Oh, ok. In that case, thanks." I nodded at him and smiled, accepting the red cup.

"So, what's your name?" he asked. 

"Jamie. Jamie Polanco." 

Riley raised an eyebrow. "Heather's friend, eh?" he said.

Shaking my head in confusion, I put a hand over my forehead. "What has she been telling you guys?" I asked, managing a weak laugh.

"Just that she wants to set you up with Gordo Smith," Ducharme says, blithely, sipping his own cup of pop.

"Oh, great. She's playing matchmaker.  _Again_." 

"She tried before to set you up with a guy?" Riley inquired, smirking slightly at me.

"Yeah... It didn't work out," I grumbled. Under my breath, I added, "Fortunately."

He nodded, head tilted to one side as he gazed at me. Rather intently, too. I squirmed a little. "Ahhh... She told me about that," he said, softly. "Sorry. For, you know, bringing it up."

"It's fine," I said, forcing out a fake laugh, waving the notion off. "It's all right. I'm  _way_  over that now."

Riley nodded, pensively. "Would you like to go out some time, Jamie? For hamburgers or something?" he asked, smiling at me again.

_Jesus Christ_ , I thought to myself, offering Riley a weak, watery smile.  _I've only been here for, what, twenty minutes and I'm already being hit on?_  "Um, I don't think that would work out. I just got out of a bad relationship - the guy Heather set me up with. I don't feel comfortable." I smiled again.  _At least 95% of that was true_ , I mused, as I moved on to the snack table. 

I spotted Trent and Heather standing beside a tall, blond haired boy, and waved over to them.

"Hey, guys." I ran up to the three of them and gave Heather a hug, before pausing to take in the blond boy by her side. "Hi, I'm Jamie. I don't believe we've met before."

He studied me with intelligent brown eyes, allowing a small smile to sneak onto his face. "I'm Gordie Smith. A teammate of Trent's."

Cringing inwardly, I quipped, "Oh. How unfortunate for you. You seem like a nice guy." I shot Trent a nasty glare, and when he didn't react, I turned back to Gordie. "I was at the game today. You had a really pretty behind-the-back pass to Javenson for the game winner."

"You're a fan?" He asked, smiling.

"Oh, gosh," I laughed, "I've been a hockey fan since I was in my mother's womb. My dad played minor league hockey for the New York Rangers, at Binghamton. I was born with the love of hockey in my veins."

"Awesome," he said, and I wondered if he was just trying to humor me. "What's your dad's name? Did he ever make it up to the Rangers?"

"Jim Polanco, and sadly, nope, he never made it. He spent six years in Binghamton before retiring and coming back home to Slave Lake."

"Wow, he must've really loved the game to stick around in the AHL for so long." Gordie almost seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. And that was a rarity for the guys of Slave Lake. I was almost impressed.

"He was. Actually, he still is," I said, shrugging. "He, along with Trent's and Heather's dads are teammates on a 30-and-up beer league team. He just can't get enough hockey."

Gordie smiled widely at me, and somehow, I just  _knew_  what was coming next. "Would you like to go out some time, Jamie?" he asked me, lowering his eyes to his feet, almost  _shyly_.

I held back an amused laugh. "Oh? Like...a  _date_?" I asked softly.

Gordie nodded. "You seem like a really cool girl, Jamie Polanco... I'd like to get to know you a little better." He shrugged earnestly, holding up the palms of his hands to me.

I folded my arms across my chest and studied him. "Hmmm... I dunno, Gordie Smith. I've had bad experiences in the past with Slave Lake junior hockey players... We'll see." I could feel my cheeks flushing in embarrassment, and I lowered my eyes to the ground. "We'll see."


	3. Gordie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Gordie bond over NHL Centre Ice, and Trent and Heather get into a sticky situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was a bit unsure as to whether or not Canadian youth would call them RCMPs or mounties, so I went with the generic 'cops'.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Additional Notes/Warnings:** Excessive underage drinking and attempted sexual assault.
> 
> Mike Modano, Sergei Zubov, Chris Osgood, Mats Sundin, and Roman Turek were all active players at the time I was writing this so you can hazard a guess at how old this shit is. 
> 
> I had also recently read Laura Robinson's Crossing the Line: Violence and Sexual Assault in Canada's National Sport.

"Wasn't she _weird_?" Trent asked, when all three of us piled into his car to go home. "I keep telling Heather not to let her tag along, but she  _insists_..."

"Trent! Don't be rude!" Heather snapped, removing her mittens and holding her hands over the heat vent. "Jamie's my best friend."

"No accounting for taste, eh Heath?" Trent grinned at her and tousled her blonde curls.

Heather wasn't amused. "Don't be an ass."

"Sorry, Heather," I chuckled, "it's not in Trent's nature  _not_  to be an ass."

Trent scowled, taking a swing at my head. "Come  _on_ , Gordie. You couldn't possibly be interested in that wildebeest Jamie," he snickered.

Heather opened up her pink satin purse and pulled out a compact, flipping it open to study her appearance. Pursing her lips, she sighed, "Jamie's  _not_  a wildebeest. You obviously didn't think so when you went out with her last year."

Trent stiffened behind the wheel, visbily. "Shut  _up_ , Heather."

_Trent and Jamie? What the...?_  "You went out with Jamie?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Trent shot Heather a nasty glare, hand poised over the ignition, keys dangling from his fingers. "You stupid fucking bitch," he hissed, "I can't believe you - "

"Trent, just - what's she talking about?" I asked, intrigued now, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Trent cast another scathing glance at Heather before turning in his seat to face me. His dark eyes sparked with a dangerous fire. "Last year, I met Jamie after a game... We went out for a bit, and then she introduced me to Heather," he said, with an awlward, jerky shrug. "End of story."

"Not exactly," Heather cut in, opening the door and stepping out. "I'm going to find Jamie." Heather stormed back for the Ducharme house, her gait strong, determined and angry, her blonde curls bouncing.

"Stupid bitch." Trent slammed a fist against the steering wheel. "Stupid fucking - "

"Why are you so bent out of shape over Jamie," I asked, with a shrug.

"It's a  _long_  story, Gordie," he snapped, leaning back in his seat. "Fuck this... Fuck Heather." He threw open the car door and stepped out. "I'm going to get wasted. You can find your own way home."

***

I started back into Riley's house. By now, a lot of the party-goers had fallen into alcoholic stupors. Two blonde girls in skimpy outfits were strewn over his couch, and a skinny kid in a toque was curled up on a loveseat. Various other kids were stumbling about Ducharme's place, glassy eyed zombies.

Sighing, I found the only 2 liter of Diet Coke and settled in the empty den with the family's new 50' flat-screen television.

"Modano passes off to Zubov; Zubov  _fires_  on Osgood - "

"He scores! Sundin, fifteen seconds into overtime - "

"Turek makes the save and covers up for the whistle - "

The door opened and Heather's friend Jamie poked her head in. "Hey, Gordie. What're you up to?" She stepped into the dimly lit den and shut the door behind her, gently.

"Nothing, just checking out the games on Riley's NHL Centre Ice," I said, patting an empty spot next to me. "Wanna join me?"

Jamie shrugged, settling next to me on the sofa. "Oilers playing?"

"Not tonight," I said, skipping through the channels. "Flames are, though. Losing to Boston 3-0 too."

Jamie laughed, shaking her head, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "Oh, the Flames? They suck," she chuckled, grinning. "I'm a born-and-bred Oilers fan."

I couldn't help but smile back at her. " _I'm_  a Flames fan." 

Jamie laughed and balled her hands into fists. "I think those are fightin' words, Gordie."

"You sure you want to take me on? I lead the Pilots in PIMs," I joked, putting the remote down on the coffee table.

"Are you sure you want to take  _me_  on?" Jamie countered, arching an eyebrow at me, putting her stockinged feet up on the table. "I've handled boys much larger than yourself."

"Like Trent?" I rolled my eyes.

"What? What  _about_ Trent?" Jamie dropped her hands into her lap and stared at me with this cold, clinical gaze, her playful mood gone just like  _that_.

_What had Trent done to her?_  I wondered. "Heather said something about you and Trent," I began to backpedal, furiously. "It was nothing... I mean..."

"What did she say?" Jamie asked, folding her arms underneath her breasts, like she was trying to pull herself out of her own body.

"She just mentioned that Trent had gone out with you before he met her," I stammered, surprised by her sudden behavior.

Jamie sighed. "He would say that, wouldn't he?" she snapped, turning her head, her long brown hair hiding her face. "He's such an asshole... I don't understand what she sees in him... She has to know he's fucking every groupie that crosses his path... She just - he just..." Jamie's voice died off in her throat and she covered her face with her hands.

I moved closer to her on the couch and brushed my hand against her elbow. "You want to talk about it?" I asked, gently.

"Not really..." Jamie sighed, not responding to my touch. "God, I hate him." Jamie raised her head to look at me, her hair falling into her face. "You didn't really pick the best guy to be friends with."

"Trent's... Trent enjoy hockey, as well as the lifestyle," I said, weakly, as if that explained my friend's behavior.

"You don't?" she asked.

"Not anymore. It used to be fun, but now it's a job." I shrugged.

"What about the girls? And the popularity?" Jamie asked.

"I was never in it for that," I sighed, sitting back against the sofa, sinking into the cushions. "I started playing 'cause I loved the game. I loved being on the ice and scoring goals, and setting them up... I never did it for the money or the fame... I never did it to get into the NHL... And now there are all these expectations... My dad wants me to enter the draft this summer... I mean, the farthest east I've ever been is Winnipeg. How the hell am I going to survive in a city?" I paused, realizing I'd been talking non-stop for the last five minutes.

"You're just down to earth, Gordie... The NHL could use a guy like you," Jamie said. She reached out and slipped my hand into hers, squeezing it.

Her silver thumb ring was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, and I began staring at it, intently. "I don't know if I'd be able to make it. Trent would, definitely... But not me."

"I think you're too hard on yourself. If you just gave it a chance..." Jamie shrugged, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'd probably surprise yourself."

Perhaps it was the beer I'd consumed earlier in the evening, or maybe it was the fizz of the Coke reaching my sinuses, but in the dim light she looked almost beautiful. No, not just beautiful. She looked  _lovely_.

I leaned in and brushed my lips over hers, gently, like the touch of a feather. I mean, I'd barely kissed her, but I leapt back as if I'd been scalded with an iron. When I looked down, I realized we were still holding hands.

"I'm sorry," I babbled, raising my hands to my cheeks. "I don't know what came over me..."

Jamie twisted her lips into a small smile. "Don't be sorry. I - "

The door flew open and shattered whatever moment Jamie Polanco and I had just shared.

Trent, his black eyes wide with a fear I'd never before seen, stood in the doorway. "Gordie, you've got to help me. I'ts Heather."

"What happened?" I asked, jumping to my feet, tugging at my sweater hem.

"She's piss drunk and some of the guys from Peace River won't leave her alone." Trent's eyes fell on Jamie for a brief second, before returning to me. "Come on, you've got to help me get her to the car."

Jamie and I followed Trent to the front yard, where Heather was trapped in a small circle of Peace River players. One of them had pulled off her winter toque and was sifting her hair through his fingers. Another one was tugging on the zipper of her jacket, whispering things in her ear.

"Come on, Heather, we know you like us," the ringleader cooed, pushing her jacket off.

"Leave m'lone," she stammered, pushing her palms against his chest. "Go a _way_."

"Come on, guys," Trent called out, "get your hands off my girlfriend."

One of the Peace River boys turned their gaze on Trent, laughing. "There's two of you, Walker, and five of us."

"Don't you fucking touch her." Trent stepped up to the leader of the pack and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him away from Heather. Heather fell to her knees and tried to crawl away from them, but one of the other boys grabbed her around the waist.

"She likes it when I touch her," the other boy sneers, not letting go of Heather. "Don't you, Heather?"

"Let...me go," she protested weakly, balling her hands into fists and battering them against his chest.

Trent grabbed Heather by the arm. "Come on, Heath, we're going home."

Heather wriggled out of her captor's arms and flung herself into Trent's arms. She tried to pull him toward the car, but he remained rooted in position. "Come on, Trent, what are you waiting for?"

"You go to the car. I've got some business to take care of." Trent narrowed his coal-black eyes at the ring of boys that had assaulted Heather.

I stepped up behind him and grabbed him by the arm. "Trent, come on, let's just go."

"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, Walker," the Peace River captain sneered. "Run away like a little girl with your tail between your legs."

"You fucker." Trent shook off my hand.

"Trent, don't."

"Come on and fight me, you pussy. Or are you afraid I'll bust your pretty little face?" the other boy taunted, raising his fists, bouncing on his feet like a boxer in a ring.

Trent charged the circle of boys like a bull, tackling the leader in the midsection and bringing him down, to the ground. He straddled his waist and began slamming his fists into his face. Everyone converged on Trent and the other boy, trying to pull them apart.

Riley Ducharme charged out of the house, yelling. "Guys, I think I hear sirens. I think the neighbors called the cops!"

 He may as well have shouted 'FIRE' and pulled the alarm. People were scattering in every direction with no semblance of order. Those who lagged behind were forgotten or trampled.

Trent, a tiny rivulet of blood streaming from his left nostril, his hand clenched around Heather's wrist, gave me a shove in the back. "Come on, let's get out of here before the cops get here."

"What about Jamie?" I paused to look for her, but she was lost in the crowd of frenzied teenagers.

"Forget her, man." Trent pushed Heather into the passenger seat of his car and got in. "Let's get going!"

Sighing, I followed suit and got in, just as Trent jammed his foot on the gas.

" _Trent_ ," Heather began to whine, pressing her forehead against the cool windowpane, "what the hell is going  _on_?"

"We're getting out of here, Heather," he snapped, his back rigid against the back of the driver's seat, his knuckles as white as bone.

Sighing heavily, Heather pressed her forehead even harder against the glass. "I was  _enjoying_  myself, Trent. Why couldn't we have just  _stayed_?"

I sat back and closed my eyes. The only thing that ran through my brain was that I didn't even get Jamie's number.


End file.
